


Lavender And Tea

by Call_Me_Clarence



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_Clarence/pseuds/Call_Me_Clarence
Summary: The boys work a case in which a family had been poisoned via their Christmas dinner. They both have trouble not imagining Rosie as one of the ill-fated children. There's really only one cure to their current mood of fear and worry. The scent of Rosie's hair. Tea and lavender.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Kat's Johnlock Xmas 2019





	Lavender And Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Лаванда и чай](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147558) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> For Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge 2019, Day 13. The prompt was Turkey Feast.
> 
> I got the 'Serlog' thing from agirlsname's fic ['We Could'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151828) (check out this fic, its amazing!) who in turn got it from [ContactSH](https://twitter.com/contactsh?lang=en) on twitter.

Sherlock had been deliberate in detaining he and John from the crime-scene. It was his hope that Lestrade and his men would have the bodies cleared out by the time they arrived, having taken the convoluted route Sherlock had given the cabbie, while soothing John that it was a shortcut, even though it had purposefully added fifteen minutes onto their trip. The cabbie wasn’t exactly complaining about the extra fare, though he did give Sherlock a look as if he thought he was daft. 

Sherlock didn’t mind though. He had simply wanted to save John from… this.

The war verteran clenched and unfurled his fist in a steady tempo, fighting the urge to dig his fingers into the muscles of his leg, knowing that the pain was psychosomatic. He watched as three small bodies are being placed into body bags. 

_ Damn _ .

“John…” Sherlock tried to softly draw John’s attention away from the scene. To maybe ask if he was alright. To offer that they skip this one. They could leave now and not have to deal with any of this anymore--

“I’m fine.” John said stiffly. He turned to look at Sherlock, and Sherlock could see by the determined set of his mouth that he wouldn’t be made to leave. He wanted to follow this through ‘til the end.

Sherlock vowed to solve this case as quickly as possible. Dead children always reminded John of Rosie. And even though they both knew she was back at Baker Street under the expert care of Mrs. Hudson, even Sherlock had difficulty not imagining that maybe she wasn’t so fine after all. That maybe she’d be the next small body they watched being taken away.

Sherlock nodded at John, and then went to find Lestrade, hearing the slight limp of John’s steps as he followed closely behind.

“We’re thinking they’ve been poisoned.” Lestrade said, giving Sherlock a tight smile, and a slight nod of his head to John. He looked grey and haggard. But then again, so did everyone else. The usual joking atmosphere one might find at a crime-scene to cut the tension, was decidedly absent here. No one liked the ones involving children. There were no jokes, no poking fun. Only deliberate and methodical work, as everyone tried their best not to let the scene get to them.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” Sherlock took in the dining table, laid out with Christmas Dinner. It was the next day, the bodies had sat overnight, a macabre final family feast. The mother and father were still there, heading up each end of the table. They were both doubled over, their faces mashed into their plates. They’d died very suddenly. There were three other plates, two on the side facing Sherlock, one on the other. The food was hardly touched, mostly smeared about from where the owners had fallen forward.

The deductions came quickly and easily, though Sherlock felt no giddy elation when they did. He just felt queasy and the strong need to breathe in the scent from the top of Rosies head, the place that smelled most like her. She smelled like tea and lavender, despite her name. Sherlock had no idea why her scent always seemed to calm him down, but he knew that the moment he had her in his arms, and his nose buried in the curls at her crown, he immediately felt as if the whole world was put to rights, and nothing could possibly be wrong. He wondered if Lavender candles might have the same effect?

“We’re testing the food now to see what comes up--”

“It was the turkey.” Sherlock said distractedly, already leaning over to give the turkey a big whiff. He immediately retracted his head and wrinkled his nose. Though hidden by other aromas, there was something definitely off about it, even more so than the nearly overpowering stench of rotting meat.

“How do you reckon?” 

“Only thing on every plate. Finicky eaters--” Sherlock began the deduction of the children’s eating habits but immediately stopped himself. Rosie was also a picky-eater.

He gave John the side-eye and saw the other man resolutely not looking back, but instead zeroing in on the turkey, as though he were about to start spouting his own deductions about it.. Sherlock wanted to tell John to focus on the parents bodies, for that would get them out of here all the sooner, but held his tongue. 

“Any idea what it could be? The poison, I mean.” Lestrade was also eyeing John, ready to step in if he needed to leave the scene quickly. 

Sherlock cleared his throat to bring Lestrade’s attention back over to him. 

“Ten ideas.” Sherlock said, and then went to the Father’s corpse, who was closest. He examined the man’s nails, lips, and eyes. Then he went to the Mother, found the same clues.

“Three.” he corrected. Then brought out his magnifier and took a closer look at the vomit on the Mother’s side of the table. Smelled it as well. 

Sherlock stood, gave a cursory view to the the room they were in, and then walked the flat, taking in clues, making deductions. He now knew what had killed the family. The only question was why? How does a family of five, lower income bracket, barely scraping by--expect no. The father had been promoted recently. This was their first ‘real’ Christmas, wasn’t it? The parents put forth quiet the effort this year. Had the means to make this Christmas special. They went all out, with the tree, the presents, and even--

“The Turkey.” Sherlock gasped, taking a flier for a local butchers down from a pin board by the door. 

“Yes, turkey, we’ve already established that bit.” Lestrade was tetchy, but Sherlock couldn’t fault him.

“Heroin.” Sherlock answered his question from earlier.

“Heroin? You think the turkey was dosed with--but why? Who would do that?”

“It wasn’t meant as a poison. It was meant as transport.” Sherlock held up the flyer for Lestrade. “Family went all out this year. Best tree. Best presents. And of course, best turkey. The father bribed the butcher for the bigger turkey, even though it was promised to someone else. The butcher didn’t know his nephew had been running drugs through his business for the last two months.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Lestrade had an impressed smile on his face that seemed out of place in their surroundings.

“I’ve been investigating that Butchers, or more like the cousin. He’s tied in with a diamond smuggling ring as well. I’ve been waiting to lay a trap for him… but perhaps I should have been more proactive in his capture.”

  
  


Perhaps if Sherlock had caught this man sooner, this family’s last meal would not have been their final one. Perhaps they’d still be alive right now. Perhaps--

“Not your fault.” John said, a warm hand coming up to grip Sherlock’s bicep. 

“I--I know that.” Sherlock tried to snap, but it came out weak, unsure. Confused above all. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” John suggested, hand giving Sherlock’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

Well this was odd. Wasn’t it meant to be Sherlock offering John the support and reassuring touches? To offer that they ‘get him home’? Oh! Maybe this was John’s way of saying that  _ he _ was the one who needed to leave. Alright. Sherlock could take the hint and save John the trouble of having to say it aloud.

“Yes, let’s.” Sherlock tried to offer a smile, but he’s not sure one even formed on his lips. His mouth felt oddly numb. Maybe smelling that turkey so enthusiastically had been a bad idea.

“I’ll come by to collect your statements tomorrow morning.” Lestrade said, instead of his usual demands that they head right to the station. 

“Ta.” John waved to him, and then they were outside, trying to hail down a cab.

John didn’t let go of his arm until they were climbing into the cab. And then, as Sherlock got settled, John reached over the seat separating them, placing a firm hand securely above Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock pretended not to notice.

\-----

“Watson.” Sherlock smiled when they made it into the flat. 

Rosie sat on Mrs.Hudson’s lap, pretending to read Sherlock’s book on penguins, making up a story about the creatures in her language of gibberish as she flipped the pages.

Upon hearing her name, Rosie turned to Sherlock, squealing with delight and throwing the book onto the floor before, climbing out of Mrs.H’s lap and making her way over to him. She grabbed onto his pant leg and said “Ba!” which of course meant ‘up!’.

Sherlock reached down to pick her up as she raised her arms high over her head. He got her settled against his hip and she wrapped her little arms around his neck, giving him one of those open mouthed baby kisses on his cheek, which left far too much saliva and should have been disgusting, but Sherlock could only find it in his heart to catalogue them as ‘endearing attempts’ rather than ‘unsanitary failures’ as Mycroft was wont to do.

“How has our morning been today, Watson?” he asked, grabbing onto her hand to stop her from bopping him in the face continuously. 

“Da!” she said excitedly, easily extracting her hand from his so she could hit him on the nose once more.

“Oh, how intriguing.” Sherlock smiled, just as John came up to correct her slap-happy behaviour.

“No hitting. Remember what Daddy told you?” he chastised her. 

“Dad-eee.” she grinned, grabbing onto John’s fingers. She’d just learned to say the word earlier this week, and it still thrilled absolutely everyone whenever she said it. 

“That’s right. I’m Daddy.” John smiled at her, giving her little hand a kiss.

Rosie squealed, giggling, and then withdrew her hand. She then immediately turned and smacked Sherlock in the nose. 

“Rosie! No! Bad girl!” John reprimanded.

At the same time Sherlock said “It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter if it hurts. We’re trying to teach her that violence is wrong.” he looked back at Rosie, “We do not hit Sherlock. Bad Rosie.” 

Rosie chewed on her hand as she watched and listened to them. She seemed to be thinking very hard about something. Finally she released her hand and said, 

”Serlog.”

  
  


“Oh my god.” John gasped, and then laughed. “Yes! Yes, honey. That’s Sherlock.” John pointed at Sherlock. “Yeah, Sherlock.” he cooed in a baby-voice, then turned to Sherlock. “I can’t believe she’s just said your name… you alright?”

Sherlock had been frozen in place, not breathing, and fairly certain his heart had stopped beating as well. John’s words kicked him back into gear. He cleared his throat.

“Perfectly.” he lied, though knew that stupid sentimental tears were shinning in his eyes. What was this emotion that he felt? Was this something like what John had felt when Rosie had first said ‘Daddy’? If so, Sherlock could understand the exuberant excitement he’d displayed a little bit more. But it also felt like something in his heart was breaking. As if it had grown too big and had split open. It wasn’t exactly a nice sensation. How awful.

John stared at Sherlock for another minute, before putting his arm around his shoulders, other hand coming up to tickle Rosie beneath her chin. “You’re so smart.” he cooed, “You must take after him.” 

Sherlock made to look over at John, but was stopped by Rosie’s hands coming up to hold his head in place. She looked at him very seriously for a moment.

“Serlog Da-da.” she declared.

Oh. Oh, alright. No. This was definitely a different sensation. Much, much worse. Sherlock felt his tears violently threaten his waterline. Oh god, he was about to cry over some mispronounced gibberish wasn’t he? He was-- _ oh no _ . Sherlock turned his head as much as Rosies grasp would allow and looked to John. He was staring back at Sherlock with a look not dissimilar to the one Rosie had just had on. 

“I’m not opposed to her calling you that if you aren’t.” John said decisively. Then shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, you are basically her other parent.” he turned to watch Rosie as he petted her hair. “Rosie has two fathers, far as I’m concerned.”

There was an odd set to John’s jaw and he was determinedly not looking at Sherlock. It was an easy deduction that he was nervous about what he’d just said. Worried that Sherlock would turn down the offer to be Rosies other father-- _ god _ , Sherlock had to stop thinking about it or else he’d start blubbering everywhere like Mrs.Hudson. 

“Well, then.” Sherlock cleared his throat again and looked at Rosie, catching her eye. “I guess I’m ‘Da-da’.” 

Rosie squealed in delight, going in to sock Sherlock in the jaw, but at a sharp ‘Hey’ from John, she stopped her hand, and then slowly brought it to Sherlock’s cheek, patting him affectionately.

“That’s a good girl.” John smiled, ruffling up her hair before heading towards the kitchen. “Tea?” he asked.

“Chu!” Rosie shouted--which meant juice-- just as Sherlock said “That would be lovely.” 

“Tea and Juice.” John chuckled before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Da-da” Sherlock said to Rosie, bouncing her on his hip, just testing out his new title. She smiled at him and repeated it, before laying her head down against his chest, tucked up under his chin. 

She was one of the most affectionate children he had known, and though he didn’t particularly know very many children, he still thought her behavior was special. She was practically an angel. Rarely ever cried or threw a tantrum. Didn’t destroy things. And yes, she had gotten a bit free with her punches as of late, but Sherlock knew she was just testing out this new way to interact with the world, that it was a phase, and one to be undoubtedly short lived if John had anything to say about it. 

Sherlock ducked his head so he could smell Rosie’s hair, burying his nose in her curls and breathing in that addicting scent. Lavender and tea.  _ Rosie _ . The smell that meant everything was alright. Everything was safe. The world was set to rights once more.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John watching them, he smiled when he saw Sherlock look up at him, and Sherlock smiled back. They were a family, Sherlock realized. The three of them. Yes, the family was wide and extended, so many people helping out and butting in. But this right here, just Rosie, John, and Sherlock. This was it. Something Sherlock had secretly wanted his entire life but never thought he’d find. But he had found it. And now he knew he would never let it go.

  
  


The End

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... so this turned out darker than I wanted. But I added that fluff there at the end! So... that makes up for killing a whole family on Christmas?? No? ... oh. Sorry D:
> 
> And do I know anything about kids? No. Did I base Rosie on my dogs? Yes. They say write what you know, and my dogs are my babies. So there you go.
> 
> I wish I could say more fluff is coming. But I just saw the prompt for day 16 and all I could think was 'Cannibalism' so...yee :) 
> 
> Throw me a Kudos if you liked it. Throw me a comment to make my day ;)


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